


An Eye for an Eye

by TheFeistyRogue



Series: The Author's Faves [19]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Alternate Universe, Brainwashing, Dark Harry Potter, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Muggle Technology, Murder, POV Alternating, Revenge, Serial Killers, Suicide, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 19:13:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16540484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFeistyRogue/pseuds/TheFeistyRogue
Summary: Harry is loyal to Petunia Evans, and Petunia Evans only.





	An Eye for an Eye

****_ 1st November 1981 _

It was a little after half past six in the morning. Petunia yawned, wiggling her toes into slippers and pulling on a fluffy pink dressing gown over her pyjamas. Vernon lay snoring in the bed next to her, a far sight from the man she’d married five years previously.

Her lip curled as he let out one resoundingly loud gurgle. She eyed her pillow, considering whacking Vernon across the face with it, or just pressing down over his mouth and nose until there was no breath left for him to snore with.

Petunia huffed and left the bedroom. Perhaps if he’d given her a child she might look at him more fondly, but he’d failed in that department as well.

The kitchen was chilly and the sky outside still dark. The first of November promised to be as miserably grey as October had been. Petunia collected the empty milk bottles in their tray and shuffled over to the front door, unlatching the chain. She pulled open the door, and nearly dropped the bottles in her surprise.

Someone had left a baby on her doorstep.

With a suspicious glance down the street, Petunia placed the milk bottles on the front step and swept up the child. It barely stirred. She slammed the door shut and rested against it for a moment, her heart pounding.

Who the hell left a baby on a doorstep?

She deposited the baby on the kitchen table and stared at it. It's dark mop of hair made her stomach grumble with nerves. Tucked into the baby’s blanket was a letter on peculiarly browned paper. 

She would recognise parchment anywhere.

“Oh lord,” she muttered. With resignation, she snatched up the letter and began to read.

When she was done, Petunia stared down at her younger sister’s baby and wished she could place him back on the doorstep and have him disappear in the same way he’d arrived. Apparently, his presence would provide some form of protection from those that would wish to harm her in the magical world. 

Petunia wasn’t an idiot. Presumably, that protection worked both ways. Albus Dumbledore had dumped her with a child in order to protect him from the murderous followers of the man who’d killed her sister. She doubted very much that he actually cared whether Petunia lived or died.

So distracted was she, Vernon stumbling into the kitchen took her by complete surprise.

“What —  is — that,” he hissed, staring down at the child.

The boy finally awoke, stirring at the noise.

His eyes were the same beautiful bright green that Lily’s had been. Beloved, kind, dead Lily.

“That,” Petunia said, voice laced with disdain, “is Harry Potter.”

* * *

 

_ 2nd March 1986 _

The Leaky Cauldron was just as vile as Petunia remembered from her teenage years. She gripped Harry’s hand tightly to ensure that he couldn’t let go. If he did, she no longer be able to see the interior —  the anti-Muggle charms on the building would bewitch her and she’d find herself wandering the streets of London in confusion, with no idea where she’d just been.

Harry was dressed in smart, normal clothing, just as she was. Sadly, they both stood out like a sore thumb when compared to the weird patrons of the pub. She strode up to the bartender, ignoring the stares.

“Kindly open the doors to the alley,” she requested. 

“No wand, luv?”

“Squib,” Petunia lied. “But Henry here’s a wizard.”

“Bit young for Hogwarts,” the bartender said, but made his way to the back. Petunia followed behind, doing her best not to sneer at the filthy conditions.

The bartender tapped his wand on the bricks, just as Petunia remembered him doing when Lily had needed to collect her school equipment. She thanked him and hurried Harry along with her, into the alley.

“Don’t stare like a commoner,” she snapped when she noticed him gawking at a hag selling lizard eyeballs. 

Harry immediately stiffened, averting his gaze. 

“Sorry, Aunt Petunia.”

“Do you remember the rules?”

He looked up at her with earnest green eyes barely hidden behind his glasses. 

“No staring, no questions, no running away or exploring,” he repeated dutifully. “Tell no one who I am and fit in with the crowd.”

He glanced around. “Am I going to have to get a robe?”

Much to Petunia’s distaste, it appeared that if they were to fit in with the other denizens of the alley, they both would have to get robes, ugly as they were.

“Yes,” she snapped. “Now come along.”

She led him to the bank and tried her best not to look at the gross little men — Goblins, Lily had told her once — that ran it. They exchanged pounds for Galleons and Sickles and Knuts. 

At six, Petunia deemed Harry old enough to visit the wizarding world. She’d already told him the truth about magic and his parents. He knew the only reason she was looking after him was so that he could live to destroy the world that had stolen away her sister and ruined Petunia’s life.

She’d also warned him of Dumbledore and his manipulations. She made sure that Harry knew to blame Dumbledore for his placement with Petunia and for the fact his parents had been murdered in the first place.

It was Dumbledore’s fault that Vernon had left her to raise the horrid child on her own. She didn’t regret the loss, for Vernon had only gotten fatter and fatter, but the scandal had been enough that she’d moved away from Privet Drive and found a flat in London instead. It was Dumbledore’s cause that Lily had stood for, and ultimately died for. And it was Dumbledore’s school that Lily had left Petunia to attend, all those years ago.

They got fitted for robes and then Petunia took them to the bookshop, as she was curious to see what rot they’d come up with to explain Lily’s death. After all, she’d taken Harry to his parent’s grave and they’d found a sculpture proclaiming him to be the Boy Who Lived, some kind of ridiculous celebrity. She let Harry explore the section about Potions while she found the modern history texts.

Harry came to her with piles of books. She eyed them critically.

“These had better all be useful,” she warned him. “Else it’s the cupboard for you.”

Harry stared at her for a long moment, then swallowed. “Yes, Aunt Petunia,” he answered, ducking his head.

She pretended not to notice when he slid one book from the pile and tucked it back into the bookshelf, some nonsense about the broomstick sport. He was learning.

* * *

 

_ 1st September 1991 _

The whistle of the scarlet Hogwarts Express made Petunia jump. Harry was standing to attention by her side, watching the chaos with wide eyes. He was tall for his age, wiry, if a bit on the skinny side. His robes were functional, just like his suitcase, and he had a handgun holstered at his waist that she’d spent the last two years teaching him how to shoot.

“Now, which house are you aiming for?”

“Hufflepuff,” Harry said, meeting her gaze. His green eyes were like a punch to the gut, each and every time.

“And why’s that?” She had drilled the answer into him a thousand times.

“Because I’m loyal only to you,” he answered dutifully. Petunia nodded, satisfied.

“Off with you, then,” Petunia said. To hide her clenched fists, she’d tucked them into her pockets. Yet another Evans was being stolen by the wizarding world — it made her sick.

Abruptly, Harry hugged her tight. “Love you, Aunt Petunia,” he said, so quickly she wondered if she’d imagined it. Then he raced for the train, suitcase dragging behind him.

Petunia stared after him, jaw gaping.

What on earth had given him the idea to do that? She knew she’d allowed him to spend too much time watching TV.

For a moment, guilt welled up inside her, for she’d never treated Harry with any kindness at all. Then she hardened her heart. Harry was the instrument of her revenge against the world that had stolen Lily away; nothing more.

* * *

 

_ 26th January 1992 _

There was something strange about Harry Potter that Severus couldn’t put his finger on. The child watched everything around him with knowing green eyes that never failed to remind him of Lily. He’d barely blinked when Severus had heaped abuse on him in his first Potions lesson. Even worse, the child had made a passable potion and Severus hadn’t been able to dock him any points for it.

The other professors agreed. He was unusually quiet and seemed to be having trouble making friends. Pomona was quite distressed by the thought that one of her ‘Puffs was struggling to fit in. Albus, of course, was distracted by the Philosopher’s Stone, and told them not to worry about him before changing the subject.

Still, Severus was going to keep an eye on him. Potters were always up to no good and Harry Potter was undoubtedly no different.

It was late one evening shortly after Christmas that Severus actually found Potter causing mischief. A student had broken into Severus’s office, the little bugger. He roused himself from bed, shrugging on a robe, and stormed down the corridor.

“I’ll have you expelled for this,” Severus growled, bursting into the room. Of course, Albus would overrule his threat, but Potter wasn’t to know that.

The room appeared to be empty, but Severus knew differently. The wards had alerted him to a first-year intruder — who else could it be?

He held his wand high,  _ Lumos  _ illuminating the gloom. His office was in order, not a single piece of parchment or potions ingredient out of place.

“Potter?” he snapped. “Come out, Potter, right this instant.”

The gunshots were deafening. They would have been loud enough to wake the entire castle, had Severus not used a two-way Silencing Charm on his office. He staggered back against the wall, dropping his wand. The shadows danced as the  _ Lumos  _ flickered and faded.

He looked down at his chest and the dark blood seeping into his robes. He felt… numb.

Severus slid down the wall, clutching at his wounds. He took a breath and coughed up blood. The room began to darken. He blinked, unable to believe that after all he’d survived, a Muggle weapon had killed him.

The last thing Severus Snape saw was a pair of shining green eyes.

* * *

 

_ 3rd August 1994 _

_ “That was Celestina Warbeck’s ‘A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love’. Now, we’ll have the weather shortly after the six o’clock news with Violet.” _

_ “Thank you, Freddie! It’s six o’clock and the notorious ‘Heartbreaker’ has struck again. In a series of murders that have been ongoing for years, the Wizarding World’s first serial killer has claimed another victim. Miss Alecto Carrow was found dead in her home with three pieces of metal shrapnel the Muggles call ‘bullets’ in her chest. Now, we’ve a specialist with us today who will explain to us exactly what a serial killer is. Please welcome Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of the DMLE’s finest.” _

_ “Thank you, Violet. Now, a serial killer is a murderer with a pattern and no apparent motive. This particular perp always murders their victims with three gunshot wounds to the chest.” _

_ “Let me just stop you there for a moment, Kingsley. Can you explain to our listeners what exactly a ‘gunshot wound’ is?” _

_ “Certainly. The Muggles have created a device that projects bullets, small lumps of metal, great distances, using gunpowder, an explosive similar to that which you’d find in a firework.” _

_ “And this is a recent development?” _

_ “Merlin, no. These weapons have been around since the 1400s.” _

_ “Really? That’s… troubling.” _

_ “Indeed. I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of the case in depth, but I can tell you what to look out for. The gun — weapon — being used by our ‘Heartbreaker’ is a small hand-held device. It’s made from metal and has a long, slim barrel that curves into an ‘L’ shape. If you find this pointed at you, the safest thing to do would be to Apparate away immediately. If you’re not at liberty to  _ Apparate _ , physical objects can provide a barrier that will stop a bullet, provided they are thick enough. A bullet travels faster than the average witch or wizard could attempt a Shield Charm, but a strong  _ Protego  _ should be effective at stopping bullets too.” _

_ “Thank you, Kingsley, for that useful advice. One last question, before you go: this ‘Heartbreaker’ has been plaguing Wizarding Britain for years now. What makes him or her so different from a Dark Lord?” _

_ “All Dark Lords have followers and are political figures, even if they are terrorists too. The serial killer known as the ‘Heartbreaker’ seems to have no political motive — no motive whatsoever.” _

_ “Thank you once again, Kingsley, And now, onto the weather. There’s a low-pressure cloud system forming over Wales…” _

Molly switched the radio off and exchanged a long look with Arthur. The children were outside, playing on brooms. Ron and Ginny were tossing between them a worn Quaffle. She watched them from the window as she chopped carrots for dinner.

“The world’s getting more and more dangerous,” Molly said. “Why, I couldn’t believe it when they found both Sirius Black and Remus Lupin murdered together.”

“Poor Harry Potter,” Arthur said. He was seated at the kitchen table, a book about Muggle weapons open on his lap. “His aunt must worry terribly for him. She always harries him off the station when the holidays come. Now there’s no one out there that knew Lily and James, not really.”

“It’s a travesty. When Hagrid was found in Knockturn Alley, I thought: why?” Molly shook her head. “It baffles me, it really does. He’s as harmless as they come.”

Death Eaters, Order members, and employees of the Ministry alike were being murdered by the ‘Heartbreaker’, or so the press liked to call the serial murderer. She looked up again to see Ginny dive sharply to snatch the Quaffle mid-fall. Her breath caught in her throat, but Ginny was fine, as always. All her children behaved as if they’d been born on a broomstick.

“As Kingsley said, there is no clear-cut ‘why’. If there was, this murderer would be a damn sight easier to catch.”

Molly tossed the vegetables into a pot on the stove, turning down the heat with a flick of her wand, letting it simmer while she started kneading dough for a loaf of bread.

“We can only hope that they go after someone powerful enough to stop them, next,” Molly said.

* * *

 

_ 24th June 1995 _

Lucius watched with disbelief as Harry Potter dived to the ground the moment Peter Pettigrew set him free from the gravestone and came up shooting.

Literally shooting; the boy had a Muggle gun in his hands. Three successive bangs and the Dark Lord staggered, before toppling to the ground.

“That was for my aunt!” the boy cried, before whirling on one foot. He took aim and only moments later Avery was dead.

Another three bangs, and another… Lucius scrambled for his wand, even as the rest of his fellows began gathering themselves.

Mulciber tried to  _ Apparate  _ away; Lucius could have warned him against that. He screamed as he was splinched apart, the Dark Lord’s ward preventing them from fleeing, even if he was dead, or dying, or half-alive.

“ _ Crucio _ ,” Lucius hissed. The spell flew over Potter’s shoulder as he ducked behind a grave, and only served to draw Potter’s attention.

BANG. BANG. BANG. 

Lucius pinwheeled backward, toppling to the ground. He stared up at the night sky, bleeding out. The stars seemed distant, and the night grew darker and darker…

* * *

 

_ 2nd October 1997 _

Alastor frowned at the newspaper in his hand. The front-page headline screamed at him from yesterday’s edition:

_ MINISTER FOR MAGIC MURDERED! _

_ HEARTBREAKER STRIKES AGAIN! _

_ By Rita Skeeter _

_ Cornelius Fudge was found tragically dead in his office in the early hours of Tuesday morning, with three gaping gunshot wounds in his chest! He is the forty-second victim in a spree of violent and senseless killings that have been plaguing the nation, all perpetrated by the notorious ‘Heartbreaker’. As his grieving widow wept over his lifeless corpse… _

He slipped the paper into an evidence bag. Lining the walls of Rita Skeeter’s apartment was every front page article she’d ever written. They’d all have to come down and be send to the Magical Trace Investigators.

Alastor sighed. He knew the MTI wouldn’t find a single thing. The ‘Heartbreaker’ had claimed their forty-third victim only a single day after their previous kill. He glanced at Skeeter’s body. Shacklebolt was running diagnostics, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s him,” Shacklebolt said, sounding weary.

“Them,” Alastor reminded him. “We don’t know if they’re male, female, elf, or bloody centaur.”

He turned back before Shacklebolt could reel off the statistical likelihood that it was a man. He wasn’t ruling anyone or anything out.

“Constant vigilance,” he murmured. He began rifling through the paperwork on Skeeter’s desk. There were countless notes on what looked to be an expose on Dumbledore, a journal written in a shorthand someone else with the brain for it could decipher, and her calendar. He paused over the calendar and flicked it open.

No appointments for the day she’d been murdered, bar a trip to Godric’s Hollow. Potter had been on his way to Godric’s Hollow that morning, hadn’t he? Perhaps he’d seen something.

Alastor swallowed as he remembered that he’d seen Potter at the Ministry the day before, too. 

Potter — now there was an odd one. Far too quiet, with big eyes that seemed to hold the world in contempt for all that it had begrudged him. He’d not made many friends while at Hogwarts, Alastor remembered Albus grumbling about it one Order meeting.

Now he thought about it, Potter was exceptionally good at getting into places he had no right getting into. And there’d been that whole debacle at the end of his fourth year, not that Alastor knew much about it, as he’d been in a trunk for the entire year.

“Merlin’s balls,” he muttered. He jumped when someone clapped him on the shoulder, only to find Tonks frowning up at him. 

“Wotcher, boss! You alright? You’re awfully pale.”

“When did you get here?” he asked. The tips of Tonks’s hair turned pink, an indicator that she was worried.

“Just now. Came through the floo from Hogwarts. Dumbledore’s just catching up with Potter, then he’s going to call an Order meeting.”

There was a sick feeling in Alastor’s stomach, the sense that he’d missed something that had been right under his nose the entire time. He gripped his staff and slammed it into the ground, stopping the quiet murmurs of his Aurors working hard.

“Tonks, go get Amelia Bones and any other able-bodied Auror you can find in the Ministry,” he snapped. “Shacklebolt, Dawlish, you’re with me.” He jerked his head at the floo. “To Hogwarts.”

He ignored the wide-eyed stares of his subordinates and limped toward the fireplace. If he was wrong, there’d be hell to pay…

But Alastor Moody was very rarely wrong.

* * *

Harry stared at the man who was responsible for everything that had gone wrong in his life and barely held back a smile. Dumbledore was old; his time had come.

Harry was going to help him on his way.

“You must not grieve your parents too much, Harry, for it does not do to dwell…” Dumbledore was saying. Harry tuned him out and ran the pad of his thumb over the trigger button held tightly in his fist.

Everything Harry had done, he’d done for Aunt Petunia. 

She’d helped him realise that it was Dumbledore’s fault that his parents were dead. It was Dumbledore’s fault that Harry could not have a normal childhood, but instead had to train until his hands bled. It was Dumbledore’s fault that Petunia could not love him, for when Dumbledore had left Harry on her doorstep he’d ruined his aunt’s life. He swallowed back the guilt he felt and focused on his hatred of the man before him.

“Harry, are you listening?”

Harry didn’t answer. Instead, he focused on his determination to prove his aunt proud. Even though he was tainted by the magic in his blood, Harry would show her that he could be dutiful, that he could get the revenge she dreamed of, that he would do it all for her.

He’d killed so many people; his hands were drenched in blood. What was one or two more? The wizarding world was in chaos, the Ministry falling apart, and magical Britain was on the edge of revolt. They just needed a little something extra to tip them over...

“Albus!”

Mad-Eye Moody burst into Dumbledore’s office through the floo, shortly followed by Kingsley Shacklebolt. While Moody began to hiss at Dumbledore, Harry watched them neutrally. It was too late for them to stop him now.

“Alastor, these wild accusations must stop!” Dumbledore roared, when Amelia Bones and several Ministry came racing out the fireplace, wands held high, bemused expressions upon their faces.

Moody turned to Harry, a fierce, if wary expression upon his face.

“ _ Accio _ !” Moody snapped.

Harry’s Glock 25 wrenched itself free from its hidden shoulder holster and clattered to the floor at Moody’s feet. The room fell deathly silent.

“Harry?” Dumbledore croaked.

Harry smiled. He closed his eyes and thought of Aunt Petunia and hoped she would be happy.

He pressed the trigger. A heartbeat later, the bomb he wore beneath his robe exploded, decimating Dumbledore’s office and everyone within it.

* * *

 

_ 3rd October 1997 _

Petunia pursed her lips when what could only be a wizard appeared on her doorstep. He was a harried-looking fellow, with the build of a tall man who’d once been strong but now ate too many pies to maintain his figure.

“Yes?” she said, opening the door. She did not invite him in.

“I’m terribly sorry,” the man began. “Petunia Evans?” She nodded sharply. “Your nephew…” He paused, as if the news he contained was unbearable. His hands were shaking and he looked as if all the blood in his body had been leached out of him.

“Harry Potter is dead,” he said. He thrust a copy of a newspaper into her hands. It proclaimed itself ‘The Quibbler’ and contained photographs on the front pages of a castle that had been ravaged by an explosion. He shook his head as if to clear it. “Sorry about the paper, but the usual one isn’t up and running, what with the Ministry as it is... he was caught in some sort of explosion. We’re not exactly sure what happened, really, but something must have gone terribly wrong…” 

“I see. I’m sure you’re very busy,” Petunia said, struggling to contain her glee. “Don’t let me keep you.”

The man’s wide eyes were the last thing she saw before she slammed the door in his face.

Petunia took the paper into the kitchen and began making herself a cup of tea. She sat at the kitchen table and flicked through it, eying the damage to Hogwarts Castle critically. Apparently, an explosion had killed Harry, Dumbledore, Acting Minister Bones, and several other members of the Ministry for Magic. The paper speculated that the explosion had been caused by a creature called a Blibbering Humdinger.

Petunia smiled and sipped at her tea. She knew better.

“Well done, Harry,” she said and toasted him with her teacup. 

Revenge was hers.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the quote 'an eye for an eye will make the whole world blind'.
> 
> Originally, the quote 'an eye for an eye' came from the bible and the adaption is attributed to Gandhi. To me, this fic is inspired by both meanings of the saying.
> 
> I'd have never thought I'd write something like this, then I was given the prompt 'write about someone who seeks revenge and its consequences'. I knew I had to write about Petunia Dursley's hatred of the wizarding world, and voila, here it is.
> 
> Let me know what you think.
> 
> This is my 199th fic posted to AO3. If anyone has any requests or suggestions for my 200th I'm willing to hear them out!


End file.
